


[Translation]Fire is Fire

by isaakfvkampfer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Gen, deconstruction of WW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaakfvkampfer/pseuds/isaakfvkampfer
Summary: About War, Pestilence/Pollution, Famine and Death. Pestilence/Pollution is a woman here.





	[Translation]Fire is Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [火只是火](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111613) by [hydrviolence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrviolence/pseuds/hydrviolence). 



> Author’s Notes: [Warnings]: If you think Wonder Woman(2017) is everything you could hope for, plz don’t read this.
> 
> Translator’s Notes: I figured they didn’t speak English like this around the time of WWI, but I could only translate it this way:( All mistakes are mine. If you spot any, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

Fire is Fire

Hydrviolence

 

She wore red, as always.

Tonight, it was a red dress - taken by force.

Bringing two glasses of wine, she slid to the enemy’s side.

“Dr. Perluson,” she said, giving one of the them to the chemical weapon specialist, “I presume?”

The other woman nodded absent-mindedly, taking the offered beverage, eyes still on the flames in the fireplace. She was pale, with unhealthily ashen skin and fair eyelashes. Even at a gala, she wore a doctor’s gown - white, the same colour as her hair.

“Your reputation proceeds you,” she said.

The Doctor shrugged, eyes reflecting the shadows of the flames.

“You like watching the fire?” She asked behind the glass. “It spreads - violent, scorching, unstoppable - until everything turns to ashes, and all fights and noises die down. With the most boisterous means, it brings about the serenest result. Don’t you feel a shuddering peace when you watch it?”

“No,” the Doctor said with an indifferent tone. “I just watch. Fire is fire. Nothing more. As it is with everything else. Fire, blood, sword, death, and war.”

 

She wore red, since childhood.

At five, she wanted to learn to fight.

Five years later, she started her training.

And she had questions. "Why are we always training when there's no battle?" She asked, tired and puzzled - tired of the never-ending preparation for a non-existed war; puzzled about the endless perfection for killing skills when they don’t use them.

They told her a myth, about the conflicts between the Gods, the creation of Themyscira and the fate of humanity. They taught her that wars existed outside the Island while it had no place here, and to prevent them from breaking in, they needed to train themselves. The battle training was for the peace – the Island’s – and maybe, to bring it to the outer world.

She was convinced that to achieve the permanent peace and to stop people from fighting each other, the only solution was to kill the God of War. She also believed that she was meant to be the mightiest fighter and bring peace to all.

Then, war came, on the wings of a broken aeroplane. She sailed off, home left behind, to kill the God of War and bring peace to humanity.

 

And then, after killing dozens of petty minions, the puppet who had pressed the button of a chemical disaster, and, in the end, the God of War himself, the war didn’t stop. Of course it didn’t.

“I know now. War originates from humanity,” she said, coming to an ultimate understanding, to a man who wore black and a mustache. “It’s them who light the fire of the wars, because they are evil, greedy, jealous and cruel. Gods don’t start them. Wars feed on what exist in men’s hearts.” The run-down tavern proved to be a perfect shelter for her to have a drink when she was bored with the battles. The wars didn’t end. She had stayed at the battlefronts one battle right after another. She needed a little peace. Meeting this man was a bonus. Somehow they came to chat.

“Of course, of course. Men’s hearts,” the man in black said. “Where else do you think Gods come from? Where did we come from?”

She did think the other look familiar somehow. “Us?” She asked.

“Yeah, us, you probably don't remember me though."

She shook her head.

"What a vacation! You even forget my name," the black-clad man said. "By the way, I'm Famine."

"Famine?"

"Famine."

"Strange name."

Famine grinned.

A woman in white walked in. The man in black waved at her.

It's Dr. Perluson, the gas specialist. She was still dressed in white, dust coating her ashen skin and pale hair.

"Dr. Perluson?" She greeted her, not sure. She certainly hadn't expected to see the war criminal here.

"Currently? No," the white coat said, sitting beside them. "Pollution is... You can see her as my other personality. A new one. She didn't exist in the past."

“All in all, we have to keep up with the times, don’t we?” Famine teased.

The woman in white shrugged.

“Who are you?” The red dress asked.

“Pestilence,” the white figure answered. “You have met Pollution. You never knew her.” It seemed she spoke in riddles.

“What?”

“She means,” black-suited Famine explained, “in the old days, in the old wars, before you decided to take a vacation, there hadn’t been a Pollution. Now, there is. The recent war bred it. You met her not long ago.”

“So, here she is, bearing the same face as Doctor Perlus- Pollution, and she is not her, but Pestilence.”

“Exactly,” Famine confirmed and added, “except we are not human.”

“Yes, not human,” Pestilence said. “Pestilence, Pollution.”

“I beg your Pardon?”

“She has two faces – Pestilence and Pollution. The one you see now is Pestilence,” Famine continued to explain, playing the role of translator well.

“Chemical weapons, biological weapons, the epic Great Influenza – I am responsible for all of them.”

“Oh, she is busy,” Famine said. “Not I am not. With the war going on, famine spreads. Thanks to you by the way.”

“Me?”

“The wars won’t end,” Pollution, no, Pestilence cut in, “as long as you are here.”

“I don’t understand,” she frowned.

“You are War,” Famine tried not to laugh out loud. “The God of War is you.”

“No, I am not. I... I killed the God of War.”

“Ah, that one. He was just a substitute – for you – when you are not around. You were having a vacation, so he filled the vacancy,” Famine said. “We like you more. Miss you. Really.”

“Vacation?” She asked.

“How is the Island?” Pestilence answered with a question.

“Island? You know about the Island?”

“Of course. How could we forget the holiday paradise of your creation! You said that you were bored of the killings and fightings that had lasted for thousands of millions of years, and wanted to try a life that was totally free of any war. So you built the Island that was cut off from the outer world by a bubble. There was no war in it. It couldn’t have any. You washed clean all your memories and knowledge of the wars to live a peaceful life there,” Famine licked his lips. “It seems one’s nature can’t be changed. Or it’s you just finding peace insufferable.”

“I saw you killed him,” Pestilence once again cut in. “Well, Pollution saw. You killed the substitute, and became your true self again.”

“But that’s for the peace!”

“Do you really forget it all?” Pestilence scoffed. “You really think it was for the peace? Come on, you are War.”

“No, I am not. I killed War.”

“War is War, like fire is fire.” Pestilence shrugged.

“A war aiming for the peace is still a war; a killing to achieve the peace is still a killing. For kindness or malice, for better or worse. No matter what you are - the enforcer or the forced - war is war, and killing is killing.

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, the goal and the means are two different things. To the humanity, peace is the goal - something they require – while the wars are the means. Men start wars for all kinds of reasons. They can be fueled by evil, greed, jealousy and cruelty, or a determination to get something, out of the injustice they feel, for accumulated humiliations and resentments. They do it because they fear, because they yearn for the safety, because they want to strike first to avoid being hurt. Some of them claim that they go to war with some beliefs or out of the so-called justice, that they look far ahead and aim high so they can guarantee a peaceful future or something. Achieving the peace may only be only one of the goals. Remember, wars have nothing to do with anything – neither the reason it got started or the goals for the matter – but itself. War is war. Don’t be surprised by the war started in the name of permanent peace that belongs to the future. The will to participate under the same name even more so,” Famine had to break his lecture for a breath. “Of course, I am not judging the pros and cons of the wars. It’s irrelevant, for you are War, and War only, unhindered by humanity’s evil, greed, jealousy, cruelty and different goals.”

“Me... War...”

“The goal and means were never bonded. To achieve the goals, one doesn’t have to use the means of wars. After all, wars exist for humanity’s desires and abilities to kill others. Imagine that a man can’t kill another – not by nurture, but their nature – as they can’t fly by flipping their arms. They can’t kill another simply because it’s beyond their settings. The notion is alien to them. They can’t shoot another with a gun, or raise a knife to their kind; they can’t strike another with a club, or set fire on somebody. Thus, no war.”

“You are good at killing,” Pestilence interrupted again. “I saw.”

“It’s perfect, right?” Famine cheered. “You have to kill him. You – the original – once again got onto the stage, and the substitute had to back down. A shame I was not there.”

“Yes, perfect.”

“Imagine the war for the peace at hand and the war between wars for ultimate peace.” Famine closed his eyes and indulged himself. “Marvelous.”

She, who dressed in red, had an odd feeling. It felt like serenity and comfort, crawling down her spine; her fingertips tingled, reminding her of electric sparks. Now, she finally understood why she had been feeling more and more indifferent to human emotions, that love, hate, fear and morality had been dying in her, fading. Like tides letting go of the shore, they peeled off her. The invisible blindfold dropped. The dream ended. Her vision widened. She closed her eyes, chewing what she felt now - the pure impulse to hold a sword, or maybe, a gun. _All in all, we need to keep up with the times_ , so had Famine said.

“War is War,” she said.

“YES,” another voice joined them. “AND DEATH IS DEATH.”

“You came.”

“OF COURSE.”

She raised the glass and drank every last drop of the content.

“Let’s go,” War said. “The air raid is starting.”


End file.
